One life lost
by Kenizz
Summary: Sherlock turned his gaze towards John." Who am I?" He asked, his face blank as always and his voice steady, but John can still see the plea in his eyes. John struggles to come to termes whit Sherlock's amnesia. Set after TGG.
1. Waking up

**A/N: This is my first ever attempt at writing anything like this so please be kind. I must also warn you, I'm dyslectic and therefore my spelling will not be perfect. **

**Enough about me, Enjoy the story**

"Sorry boys! I'm so changeable. It is a weakness with me I know, but it is my only weakness. Moriarty's insane voice echoes trough the silent room.

Moriarty's words feels like a punch in the ribs. John feels the hope that had filled him when Moriarty left leaving him. He exhales a deep sigh and looks up at Sherlock. Sherlock turns his head and looks at John and then turns his attention towards Moriarty

" You can't be allowed to continue, you just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has probably already crossed your mind." Moriarty continues

Sherlock's eyes once again finds John's and he nods at their silent agreement

" Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock says and slowly turns around, pointing his gun at Moriarty, then lowering it slowly so it's pointing at the bomb.

John hurtles himself forwards with all his power when he sees Sherlock pulling the trigger. Next second hell breaks loose. The sound of the explosion is deafening, and the force from the blast flungs both him and Sherlock backwards. John feels his hands grab onto Sherlock's waist and he pulls him towards the pool.

The sound of the explosion is muffled by the water. John's visions is blurry but he can still see the explosion going on above him. A sudden jolt of pain makes him aver of the bullet wound in his left leg, the water surrounding it is red of blood.

John drags himself out of the water and rolls onto his back. His lungs desperately gasping for air. The pain in his leg is shutting out everything and he doesn't hear the sirens coming from afar. He desperately tries to stay conscious and barley notices when the ambulance arrives. He sees the blurry outline of a medical worker as she attends his wound. He can hear them take care of Sherlock some distance away. The voices sound worried but he can't make out any words. He closes his eyes and slips into unconsciousness.

A slow beeping sound echoes into his mind. He can feel the hand holding his squeezing lightly as he starts to move around. His movements are restricted by the tightly tucked bedsheets around him. He opens his eyes but quickly closes them again. Next time he opens them more slowly, giving them time to adjust to the bright light. A familiar face is looking down at him.

"Hello" the man says, giving his hand another light squeeze. The room is bright with white walls. There's a window on the wall opposite him but the curtain's are shut.

"Where am I" he asks the strange man. His throat is sore and it hurts to talk.

"In the hospital" The man answers. "How are you feeling Sherlock?" the man asks in return. he looks anxious. His eyes flickering nervously towards the machines on the other side of the bed.

"My head hurts" he says, moving his hand towards his head, but the other man takes hold of his wrist and places his hand on the covers. "What happened?". He asks the man

The man in front of him takes a deep breath and swallows hard. " I..." he begins. He takes another deep breath and tries again. " When you fired I was supposed to pull you into the pool. I got shot in the leg and didn't have strength enough to make it all the way to the pool. We sort of fell into the water instead and you hit your head on the pool edge, fracturing your skull in the proses." The words sounds like something the man has learnt by heart. " Oh Sherlock I'm so very sorry" he continues. This time his words are filled with sorrow and concern.

Sherlock is still confused though, what pool is the man talking about. He doesn't remember any pool. "What pool?" he asks the man.

"You were going to the pool to give Moriarty the missile plans"

"Who's Moriarty? What missile plans?" why does the man ramble on about things he can't remember even hearing about. He gives the man an irritated look but the man looks back at him with confusion in his gaze.

"You do know who I am Sherlock?" he asks confused. His eyes fixed on the man in front of him.

"Off course I know who you are". Sherlock snaps in response. He doesn't have time for this kind of nonsense.

"Then tell me" the man demands.

"You're..." He begins but his word are failing him. He doesn't have any clue to who the man in front of desperately searches his brain for a name but finds nothing. He should know who this man is. The face is so familiar but he can't remember ever seeing it before. "You're..." he tries again. His brain still failing to find a matching name.

The door suddenly opens and a man walks in. Judging from his white coat he's one of the doctors. "Still here Dr Watson?" he ask the man besides the bed. " You really ought to get some rest".

"I'm fine" the man called Dr Watson answers. " But I don't think Sherlock is." he adds.

"Oh, how come?" The doctor asks.

"He doesn't remember me"

The doctor looks at Dr Watson, gives him a small nod and then starts walking towards the bed. he stops at the foot of the bed and pics up the journal hanging there. After a few seconds he says "Tell me Sherlock. What is your name, age, address, your brothers name and age, and who this man is. He gestures towards Dr Watson. His eyes still fixed on the journal.

"My name is Sherlock, I'm" he starts but the doctor stops him.

"Your full name" The doctor says.

"My name is Sherlock..." he starts answering but comes no further. He has no idea of who he is or how old he is. His brain is working hard, searching everywhere to find anything about who he is.

The doctor looks up and gestures towards him to continue. Sherlock stares blankly at the man called Dr Watson, wishing hard he would help him. He can feel the panic rising in his chest. It's hard to breath. How can he not know who he is. Why can't he remember anything.

"I don't remember" Sherlock says at last. His voice is weak, his hands are shaking.

The doctor gives min an understanding look and then turns to Dr Watson"Come with me" he says. The two men exit the room, leaving Sherlock alone.

Doctor Rogersen eyes are kind, but his face is blank. He has done this a hundred times, John can tell. He knows what the doctor is going to tell him before he has even started. He knows whats wrong with Sherlock but he doesn't want to believe it, he is not going to believe it. Not until the doctor tells him that this is the case and that John needs to accept this.

"Dr Watson" Rogersen begins. His voice is steady. "There is no easy way to say this. Sherlock's fractured skull has caused him amnesia." He eyes John carefully before continuing, as if making sure the man in front of him is listening. " I believe his amnesia is retrograde, meaning he can't remember his life before the accident. I can't be one hundred percent sure until we have run some tests but I doubt my diagnosis will change."

"OK." John says. He's breathing hard and his mouth is dry. "OK." he repeats again. His brain can't proses the words coming from Dr Rogersen's mouth.

"I must warn you Dr Watson." the doctor continues. "These things can be permanent. We have no way of knowing when or if his memory will return."

"OK."

The two man look at each other. John feels like his entire world has been turned upside down. He frustratedly drags his hand trough his hair, sighing deep.

The silence is broken by the beep from Dr Rogersen's pager. The man casts a quick glance at it and then clears his throat

"I'm have to leave now Dr Watson."He says, giving John a small pat on the shoulder. "There is tea in the visitors lounge if you want something. Might be some biscuits there to." He gives John one last concerned look before walking away.

John can't believe what he has just heard. 24 hours ago Dr Rogersen had sat down on his bed and told him that his leg injury hadn't been serious, no nerves or important veins had been hit, the bullet had brushed him, only leaving a scar. It was nothing to worry about. John had asked him about Sherlock and the doctor had told him about the fractured skull, about the operation to relieve pressure from the brain, and about how the healing proses was going to take some time. He had also told him that Sherlock was going to be alright, that there were no damaged brain tissue. He had told him Sherlock was going to be just fine.

John had been called to Sherlock's room when the doctors were about to wake him. John remembered the relief that had filled him when Sherlock had looked at him. And then the horror he had felt when Sherlock told him he didn't remember Moriarty or the missile plans. This was to much. John feels weak,. what is he going to tell Sherlock with out making this worse. He tries to move but his body doesn't respond to any of the commands he gives it. He just stands there in the hallway, for how long he doesn't know. When he finally had made up his mind about what he was going to tell Sherlock he heads back into the room.

John was not going to tell Sherlock anything about their kiss. The event in question had happened a week ago. He and Sherlock had been standing in an ally, panting after the long run.

"Next time you need to check if there are dogs before we enter the garden. " John told Sherlock, resting his hands on his knees.

"It was good exercise though." Sherlock said, giving John a meaningful look.

"Running for your life while being chased by a pack of bloodthirsty dogs is not god exercise. And don't give me that look."

Sherlock smirked at him in response and then started laughing, John soon joined in. When they'd calmed John had leaned forwards and gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the mouth. He didn't know if it was because of the adrenaline or the relief that he had escaped the dogs but he had acted without thinking,. Sherlock had looked surprised, but then he tool hold of john's chin kissed him back. His kiss was desperate, like this was something he had longed for for a long time. Sherlock pushed John back towards the wall, his strong hands holding him firmly in place. John's hands had found their way into Sherlock's curly hair. The kissed seemed to go on forever but when Sherlock broke away it felt like the kissed had been over in seconds.

They didn't say anything on their way home and they hadn't kissed each other again, but there had definitely been changes after the kiss. Sherlock had started hugging him and they had been cuddling on the sofa. John laying in Sherlock's lap and Sherlock absentmindedly playing with John's hair while they watched crap telly.

No, John wasn't going to tell him about that. Sherlock would have more than enough coping with the fact that he can't remember anything and telling him something like that would only make things more difficult. No, that will have to wait until later, when Sherlock was ready. And besides, he wasn't even sure if Sherlock still felt the same about him. His emotions towards John was probably just as forgotten as the rest of his memories.

He took a deep breath before entering the room. Sherlock looked much more calm than he had done when John had left him. John walked towards the chair places next to the bed. His leg was hurting but he ignored it. When he sat down Sherlock looked at him, but didn't say anything. His head was heavily bandaged and he looked weaker than he ever done before. John felt a jolt of guilt shooting through his stomach but he ignored it, now wasn't the time.

"Sherlock," he began,eyeing the man carefully."The reason you can't remember anything is because you've got amnesia." Sherlock didn't respond but John knew he was listening."The amnesia may be permanent." He continued. Sherlock was still not responding, his eyes fixed on the curtains in front of him.

Sherlock turned his gaze towards John." Who am I?" He asked, his face blank as always and his voice steady. Despite this John could still see the plea in Sherlock's eyes when the question was asked.

John took a deep breath and started telling Sherlock everything. He told Sherlock who he was, who John was and their flat share. He told Sherlock about DI Lestrade, Anderson, his work, Mycroft, Moriarty and the accident. Everything except their kiss.

**Thank you very much for reading. Reviews are always welcome.**

**I'll try and update as fast as I can.**

**/Phin**


	2. 221 B

**Hello again. Here's the second chapter. Sorry for taking so long but school has been keeping me busy.**

**Disclaimer: No owning or money making at all here.**

**Enjoy the chapter.**

Sherlock looked out the window of the cab that were taking them back to 221 B Baker street. Street after street flashed by him as he tried to recall the way home. He gave up after a few minutes and let out a loud sigh.

"What's the matter?" John asked him.

Sherlock didn't bother answering. He just waved his hand dismissingly and continued looking out the window. He hated the feeling he got when he was trying to remember things from his past. They were always so familiar but still he couldn't recall one single thing about them. It was like constantly being mocked, always knowing but never remembering.

When the taxi pulled up at 221 B Sherlock leaped out of the car, quickly walking up to the front door and pulled the door handle impatiently.

"Wait, hang on!" John yelled irritably while paying the cab driver.

Sherlock hated waiting, ha had been waiting for two whole weeks in that bloody hospital and had had just about enough. He tutted impatiently and pulled the door handle once again.

To his surprise the door opened and a short old woman with a sweet face looked back at him from the threshold.

"Sherlock!" she called out in delight and pulled him into a close hug.

This was not what he had expected and he didn't like being embraced by this strange woman. He tried braking lose but the woman hugged him even tighter.

"John!" he called, wishing hard he would realise him from the woman.

"Mrs Hudson." John's delighted voice said from somewhere behind him. The woman let go of Sherlock and was now pulling John into a hug. Sherlock saw this as his opportunity and escaped into the flat. His victory was short lived as he found himself not knowing whether to continue into the flat or proceed up the stairs towards what looked like a second flat. He turned to face John who was talking to the old woman. John clearly knew her and Sherlock wondered why he hadn't told him about her.

"John" He called again. '_Why wasn't he listening to him._'

"Oh right, up the stairs. I'll be with you in a second." John said, waving his hand towards the stairs.

Sherlock turned and faced the stairs. The same mocking feeling of this being something he should remember washed over him as he climbed the stairs. He slowly griped the handle but hesitated.'_What if I can't even remember my own home'._ He wasn't sure if could take another disappointment without braking down or hitting somebody. He took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't work. He looked around when he heard he sound of John climbing the stairs behind calmed him a little.

"Well go on then."

Sherlock pushed his worries aside, after all it was only just a door, it wasn't going to hurt him. He gripped the handle tightly and pushed the door open.

The room was big and very well kept. A light green sofa and a matching armchair stood was placed in the middle of the room. Hundreds of books filled the book cases placed by the wall and what looked like another hundred books lay on top of the book cases.

John rushed into the kitchen as Sherlock slowly walked into the room, desperately trying to remember something about the place. His eye's fell on the union jack cushion placed on the sofa. There was something wrong with this cushion but he couldn't lay his finger on it.

"This cushion..." he began. " It's not supposed to be here." he finally stated.

"Sorry what?" John stuck out his head from the kitchen.

"The lady." Sherlock said, ignoring his flatmate's question. "Who is she?"

"Mrs Hudson." John stated, turning back towards the kitchen.

"Who?" Sherlock sighs in response.'_Was everyone this slow?'_

"Our landlady." John leans back towards the door post. "Didn't I tell you about her?" He added frowning.

Sherlock rolls his eyes in response then threw himself on the couch.

"Are there anything else of great importance you have forgotten to tell me?" he asks as he flings the Union jack cushion into the armchair next to him. '_Much better.'_ He then looks over at John, still stationed in the doorpost, clearly thinking hard. He then turns and slowly walks over to Sherlock and kneels next to him. Sherlock looks at the man merely inches away from him. His face is dead serious, eyes focused on Sherlock.

"The earth goes around the sun."He finally says, face still dead serious.

Sherlock looks back at him in confusion. Why was John telling him this. It was clearly of great impotence but to be completely frank, not at all what he had expected.

All of sudden John's face cracks up in a great smile, and then he starts laughing. Sherlock jaw drops. He watches as John rises and turns back towards the kitchen, still chuckling. Before leaving the room he turns around and adds:

"Oh, and by the way. David Cameron is prime minister."

John felt extremely satisfied when he turned his back on Sherlock. Seeing the great detective that confused was something he never though he would see. He pured water in the teapot and began searching for the teabags. He opened a jar and hard to suppress a gag. The jar was filled with rotting fingers. He threw the jar away, coursing Sherlock for not placing it in the fridge.

When the tea was finally done he carried the two cups back into the living room and handed one to Sherlock. He didn't take it so John placed it on the coffee table instead, sat down and began sipping on his own tea.

"You wanna watch some telly?" He asked and looked around the room for the remote. He found it next to Sherlock on the couch. '_How did it get there?'_ Pushing that thought out of his mind he walked over to Sherlock and sits down next to him. He took his flat mates silence as a yes and turned on the TV. After flicking through a couple of channels he settled for a top gear rerun.

He looks over at Sherlock, who smooths his curly hair over the stitches on the left side of his head. John had noticed that Sherlock did this quite often, not entirely sure if the man was aware of it.

He remembered when they had removed the bandage around Sherlock's head. A cleaned shaved spot had been clearly visible and the ten stitches had been uncomfortably clear against the detectives pale skin. Now he could barely see them under the dark curls but he knew they were still bothering Sherlock. Giving him head aches and keeping him up at night.

John took another sip of his tea and wondered if they had any biscuits hidden away in some cabinet. He then remembered the fingers and decided that a nice cup of tea was just enough for tonight.

Neither of them spoke until about half past ten when John jumped to his feet and stated.

"Well I'm of to sleep." He starts walking towards his bedroom."You should really get some sleep as well." He adds and turns to Sherlock who is still sitting on the couch. The consulting detective let out a deep sigh and glared at him, but then rose from the sofa and began walking towards the stairs. halfway there Sherlock's legs budged underneath him and he fell helplessly. John managed to catch him before he hit the floor and gently lay him down. His heart was racing. What had happened, was Sherlock all right, should he call an ambulance. No, he wasn't going to panic, not now, not when his friend needed him.

Sherlock grunted and frowned. He was coming around and John let out a relieved sigh.

"What happened? Are you all right?" He asked asked. He sounded calmer than he felt which was quite reassuring. If his voice was as hysterical as the one in his mind he didn't know what might happen

"Why am I on the floor?" Sherlock demanded

"Well you fainted. Is your head okay?. You didn't split your stitches, did you? Maybe we should go back to the hospital, they'll -"

"NO!" Sherlock snapped. "No, I'm fine." he tried to get up but his legs wouldn't carry him.

John helped Sherlock up from the floor and held onto him as his legs refused to carry him a second time.

"Okay, okay, calm 's probably only low blood pressure, nothing to worry about." John stated more to calm himself than to calm Sherlock. "Can you walk by yourself?" he was still holding Sherlock steadily around the hips

He takes Sherlock's choice to stay stationary as a no and begins helping the man towards the bedroom. 'Honestly_, must he always be this stubborn_.' But somehow John doesn't mind. It's quiet nice holding Sherlock around the hips, almost like a hug.

When they reach the top of the stairs Sherlock brakes free and enters his room, somewhat unsteadily, and slams the door shut. John sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. '_I knows living with Sherlock can be hard sometimes but this is... Sherlock is always cold and unfriendly but now... I can't blame the man for being frustrated after the accident but he doesn't have to... God why is it so hard to think straight'_

He pushes his thoughts aside and walks back down to clean up. Sherlock hasn't even touched his tea. Somehow this affects John very much. He pours the tea down the drain and lets another deep sigh escape his lips. He feels tired both physically and emotionally

John stares blankly at the ceiling. It's three a.m. and he can't sleep, his mind won't shut up. '_This must be how Sherlock feel all the time_. _Wonder if he's all right. I mean it was a pretty nasty fall earlier. No, no just shut up. No thinking about Sherlock.'_ He sits up, swings his legs of the bed, rises and walks towards the kitchen. After all, it's never too late for a cuppa, or to early.

On the way he notes Sherlock's favorite scarf laying on the floor. He picks it up and holds it in his hands like it's the most precious thing in the world. He slowly wraps it around his neck. It smells like Sherlock. His stomach turns into an uncomfortable knot and a sudden realization hits him. He misses Sherlock, the old Sherlock before the accident, the man who used to hug him every morning. Sherlock has been so different after the accident. He has returned to the man he was when John first met him. Cold and unemotional. The months they have spent together feels like they never happened. The only evidence that they actually did are the memories inside John's head. Oh god how he misses Sherlock, his Sherlock.

Like so many times before John thinks back on the kiss, their kiss. Should he have told Sherlock about it. It would be too late now, After all Sherlock had asked him if there were anything of great importance John had forgotten to tell him. If he hadn't told Sherlock about the kiss then, suddenly telling him now would just be weird.

John lays down on the sofa, Sherlock's scarf still wrapped around his neck, and takes a deep breath, allowing Sherlock's scent to fill him. A single tear runs down his face as he lays there. The scarf is both comforting and upsetting, reminding him of the Sherlock that is no more but confirming that the wonderful week that followed their kiss actually happened. He lays there on the couch, clutching Sherlock's scarf, until dawn when he pulls himself together and decides that it's time for that cup of tea.

**Hope you liked it. As always reviews are always welcomed. Please tell me if I'm out of character or of you want to ask about anything.**

**/Phin**


	3. Moriarty

**Hello, sorry for taking so long. i have been experiencing a bit of a writing block but fortunately it has passed. **

**i have reuploded the two previous chapters so now they're more grammatically correct. I have also changed the rating from M to T because i though it was more appropriate. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or make any money from writing this.**

**Without further ado: Chapter 3 **

'_Bored...Booooored...boredboredboredbored...BORED!'_ Sherlock clenched his hair in frustration. He had only been home for four days but were already bored beyond imagination. He had no one to talk to since he growled at Mrs Hudson to leave him alone. There were nothing on the telly and not a single one of the books in the flat looked interesting.

He looked down at his watch,sighed and collapsed on the couch, his long limbs everywhere. It was only 13:47, John wouldn't be home for at least another three hours. The only bearable part of his day was when he was with John, the only person who didn't drove him mad by inconsequential blabber. But right now even inconsequential blabber would be better than this excruciating boredom.

He sighs deeply and pulls himself in an upright position.'_Might as well learn how to make tea.' _He stood up and started walking towards the kitchen but had to stop and hold onto the doorpost. His vision had gone blurred and his legs had stopped working properly. After a few moments he was in control again and continued towards the sink where he filled the kettle and put it on the stove. Sherlock had been experiencing what John called head rushes ever since he woke up in the hospital and they were really beginning to get on his nerves.

While waiting for the kettle to boil he searched the cabinets for a decent, clean cup. He filled the cup and then began searching for tea bags, something easier said than done. After ten minutes of hunting he finally found them and irritably threw one in the cup. The teabag is soon followed by two pieces of sugar and a spoon.

When the tea is finally done Sherlock returns to the couch and takes a satisfied sip only to find that his tea has cooled while he was rummaging the kitchen for teabag. He mutters under his breath as he makes his way back into the kitchen and more or less throws the cup, with spoon and everything, inside the microwave.

'_All this work for a cup of bloody tea, how can John stand it. It's clearly not worth the trouble. _His trail of thoughts are abruptly stopped by a loud crack from his left. There are several sparks emitting from the spoon in the microwave and the teabag is on fire.

Sherlock stares dumbstruck at the microwave for a few seconds before his brain kickstarts and orders him to deal with the situation. He jerks the hatch open and grabs the cup.

"Fuck!" He drops the cup and it shatters into a million pieces. Sherlock looks at the floor covered in broken china, then at the smoking microwave, and decides that this is John's problem to deal with when he his head was killing him and John wouldn't want Sherlock to strain himself.

Once again he throws himself on the couch and closes his eyes. He has a headache, the the stitches are itching, his hand hurts from where he burnt it on the cup and he is bored. He couldn't think of anyone more misfortune than him. A knock on the door brought him out of his self pity.

"Mrs Hudson!" He calls. There is another knock on the door

"The Door!" The knocking continues and had by now developed in to a simple melody.

"MRS HUDSON!" He tries once more before he get up and slowly makes his way down the stairs.

When Sherlock opened the door the man outside ended his little knocking melody by tapping Sherlock twice on the nose.

"Hello there Sherlock" The man purrs.

Sherlock looks questioning at the man in front of him and searches his annoyingly empty brain for a name that matches his faces. Normally he would have tried to deduce who the man was, or at least that's what John has told him he would normally do, but his deductions have been useless since the accident.

"Mycroft." Sherlock states after a while, though he is far from sure of the identity of man in front of him.

"You don't remember me" The man lets out a theatrical gasp and and clutches is chest in surprise."The rumors are true then, the great Sherlock Holmes can't even remember his own equal." The man muses.

"Moriarty."

"Oh so you _do_ know who I am. I was really beginning to worry"

Sherlock did not like this man. The name Moriarty had made his stomach turn uncomfortably and vague memories were floating around in his head. He focused hard to not give away any emotion.

"I really liked that little game of ours" Moriarty smirks. "But then you went and _blew_ the whole place up. Very naughty of you. didn't like that. Not _one_ bit. NOT AT ALL!" Moriarty's eyes burn with fury and Sherlock flinches a little at Moriarty's last words. His hand subconsciously reaches up to smooth his hair over the stitches when Moriarty once again smirks.

"Now what shall we do about that Sherlock" Moriarty takes a step forwards and raises his eyebrows suggestively. Sherlock's face is hard as stone."You know you could at least make an effort. A relationship is all about give and take and right now you're not giving me anything." He eyes Sherlock gleefully. Sherlock hand once again makes it's way up towards his stitches but is stopped by Moriarty's half way.

"You're not afraid of me Sherlock, are you?" Moriarty strokes Sherlock's injury with a sick smile on his lips. Sherlock can't move, he's lost for words and his mind can't focus on anything else than getting out of this situation as soon as possible. Moriarty's grip hardens and he tugs Sherlock's hair so his mouth is in level with Sherlock's ear.

"I will _burn_ the heart out of you" Moriarty whispers through gritted teeth and pushes Sherlock away with disgust. Moriarty stares at Sherlock for a few seconds before he pats Sherlock on the cheek and turns away with a smile on his lips. Sherlock eyes follow Moriarty as he walks away up the street.

"Bye bye Sherlock dear" He singsongs and waves a hand at Sherlock before entering a black car and then he's gone. Sherlock releases a breath he didn't knew he was holding.

By the time Sherlock heard John's footstep climbing the stairs he thought his head was about to explode. His meeting with Moriarty had started a chain of thought that soon developed into a rampage of memory scraps, each memory disappearing as soon as it appeared, only leaving a never ending felling of unease.

Sherlock wrapped his dressing gown closer around himself and turned away from the door as John entered. He heard the doctor say something but his mind just wouldn't shut up.

"I said could you help me with the bags?" Sherlock didn't bother answering.

John sighed and took a deep breath. It had been a long day at the clinic and coming home to find Sherlock sulking on the couch didn't exactly brighten his day. "Fine," he continued. "Anything exiting happening today"

'_Oh the sarcasm'_ Sherlock rolled his eyes but then thought of his meeting with Moriarty. Maybe he should tell John, After all, John remembered. But before Sherlock could think anymore of it John's voice echoed through the flat.

"_Why_ is there broken china on the kitchen floor? There was a brief pause where the doctor waited for his flatmate to answer the question."Answer me" He demanded.

"I dropped a cup" Sherlock answered matter of factually.

"And then you thought it was a good idea to just leave it on the floor?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. He didn't want John to know that he couldn't even manage something as simple as making a cuppa without messing it up.

"You know Sherlock, I'm sick of this! You're acting like a bloody eight year old." He pinched his nose and took a deep breath before he continued." You're a grown man Sherlock, so I suggest you start acting like one. Bloody hell you used to be brilliant!" Sherlock didn't move, he pretended like the words didn't hurt him, that they didn't make him feel even more useless.

John glared at Sherlock for a moment before he turned around and started taking care of the broken china.

John sat down on the couch and sipped on his tea. It had been a long day and to finally be able to sit down and relax was extremely satisfying. He turned on the telly and decided on a rerun of a old miss Marple case. He looked over at Sherlock who were still sulking but his eyes were unintentionally drawn towards the screen.

After twenty minutes Sherlock's attention was focused completely on the television.

"It was Mrs Jefferson and Josie Turner who did it. The body in the library isn't ruby, she's the girl in the car. She was originally placed at Basil Blakes house but he panicked and moved-"

"Sherlock I've told you a billion times. Do _not_ give away the ending!" John glared at Sherlock but then his eyes widened with realization. "Wait.. How, how did you know it was them?"

"Well isn't it obvious." Sherlock frowned as John started to smile

"No, no it isn't" John's smile grew wider."It's not obvious at all." He was grinning like a idiot by now but he didn't care. Sherlock had solved a case, sure it had taken him more than twenty minutes and he used to do it before the opening credits were over, but that didn't matter. He had solved it.

Sherlock looked confused beyond imagination by now.

"Sherlock don't you see. This is brilliant. This is what you used to do, you used to see all the little details and make these great deductions" John was gesturing frenetically but then he stopped and looked Sherlock deep in the eyes." To you it was always obvious"

Sherlock frown was by now replaced with one of his rare smiles. John suddenly rose to his feet and walked over to the bookshelf where he pulled out a couple of case files. He picked the easy ones, which he was sure Sherlock could solve now that he had solved the Marple case.

"Look at these" He threw the files on the coffee table in front of Sherlock and sat down next to him. Sherlock gave him a puzzled look but then took up the first file and flipped it open. John could almost see his brain working. It was great to see Sherlock working again, it was almost like having John's Sherlock back. John smiled when Sherlock leaned back, clapped his hands together and placed them under his chin like he always did when he needed to think.

By the time John went to bed Sherlock was solving cases at almost the same rate as before the accident. They would visit the yard in the morning and John grinned at the though of once again running through dark alleys, chasing criminals. That night John fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

The trip to the yard had been a good idea. John had called Lestrade before Sherlock had awoken and had told the DI that they were coming over. The DI had been sceptical at first, telling John that taking Sherlock to a crime scene most certainly wouldn't help his amnesia go away, but when John told him that Sherlock's deduction skills had returned the DI quickly changed his mind.

Convincing Lestrade had been easy, convincing Sherlock had, on the other had, been almost impossible. Sherlock had blankly refused and John had to practically drag him out of the flat. John had had to fight hard not to slap Sherlock when he for the hundred time on the ride to the yard had sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

Sherlock attitude however changed when they walked in to Lestrade's office, his eyes darting over the walls and fingers twitching. John recognized far to well the signs of Sherlock's mind booting up for a new case, even if the consulting detective didn't know it himself.

Lestrade had asked Sherlock demonstrate by deducing something about Lestrade and Sherlock being Sherlock had thought it was a good idea to remind the DI of his cheating wife. Lestrade had sighed hard and had given John a look that said '_You owe me one'_ and had then agreed to take Sherlock to a crime scene.

That was when things turned a bit not good. John had told Lestrade to tell the other officers to treat Sherlock like before the accident, something that turned out to be not so well thought through. When Sgt Donovan had greeted Sherlock with her normal '_Hey freak_' the consulting detective had looked rather taken aback, and it didn't exactly get better when Anderson had commented loudly on the fact that their psychopath being back.

Sherlock had eventually solved the case and John had as always told him he was brilliant. With a dramatic swirl of his coat Sherlock had turned around and was walking out when Anderson had snorted and muttered psychopath under his breath. Luckily John had been the only one to see that Sherlock's proud posture fall a little by Anderson's words.

The two of them now sat in the cab home and John cursed himself for not stopping Anderson. Sherlock was unusually quiet and hadn't turned his gaze away from the window for one second. John looked over at his friend and his stomach clenched in guilt. How could he had been so stupid to tell them to act like normal when he knew how Donovan and Anderson treated Sherlock. Of course their word had hurt Sherlock, they wouldn't had before the accident but now things were different. Sherlock didn't remember anything from before the accident and even though Sherlock wouldn't admit it this irritated him very much.

When the cab pulled over at 221B Sherlock was inside before John had even pulled out his wallet.

John found Sherlock sprawled out on the couch, digging out dirt from underneath his nails with a pocket knife.

"Sherlock." John began. "I'm sorry about-"

"What fore, I solved the case, didn't I" Sherlock said in his usual smug way.

"Yeah, but I want to apologize-" John tried again but Sherlock cut him of

"Tea" He ordered

John gave up trying to apologize for Donovan and Anderson's behaviour and walked in to the kitchen. Maybe he had overreacted, maybe Sherlock memory was starting to return and being called psychopath and freak was therefore normal for him. John let the matter go and ignored the voice in his head telling him Sherlock wasn't at all as unaffected by the remarks as he made John believe.

**Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Please tell me if you have any questions or anything like that. Reviews are always welcome**

**/Phin**


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